Chapter 4
FOUR
A starburst of broken glass marred the front of Camilla’s bakery, right through the cartoon cupcake that made up her logo. Above the cupcake, The Sweetest Thing was written in an arc of swooping letters on the window, cheery and bright and broken.
Camilla stepped out of Marlon’s car—he’d insisted on coming, then insisted on driving, and Camilla had been too frazzled to refuse—and stared at the destruction. Her chest ached as if one of those jagged pieces of glass had pierced her breastbone. She rubbed the spot and worked her throat until it felt like she could speak, but no words came out.
The air was cold, winter nipping at the edges of the autumn wind. An overcast sky was draped over their heads, casting the whole scene in dull, gray gloom.
Then the bakery door opened. Ben appeared, concern lining his features. “Hey, Camilla. The cops are here.”
Marlon appeared at her side and put his hand on her lower back. She shouldn’t draw comfort from that touch, but she did. How could she not, when he was so strong and solid beside her? He guided her inside, then nodded to the two police officers speaking to the baker she’d hired to take the early shift.
“Didn’t hear nothing,” Daniel said, shrugging. He was a big man with baker’s biceps and strong shoulders. “Got here about three-thirty, been in the kitchen the whole time.”
“And you didn’t think to call us when you saw the glass?”
“I park out back,” Daniel said, jabbing his thumb. “Don’t come out here at all. Didn’t see it until Ben came into work.”
One of the cops—the taller one—nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at Camilla. “You’re the owner?”
Camilla still felt wobbly. She nodded. “Yes.”
“What time did you leave yesterday?”
“It was my best friend’s wedding. I came by to pick up the cake about ten o’clock in the morning.”
“I was here until four-thirty,” Ben interjected.
The tall police officer nodded. He had thick, dark hair and a beaky nose. His partner was a woman with a slicked-back bun, her thumbs hooked into her utility belt. She nodded to Marlon. “St. James. You got a system up on this building?”
Camilla frowned. Huh ?
Marlon shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll set one up this week.”
“You’ll do what ?”
Marlon still had his hand on Camilla’s back. He squeezed her waist ever so slightly. “You don’t have security cameras, do you?”
She frowned at him. That’s right; he worked in private security. Amelia had told her that a few months ago. “No. But Marlon, I can’t afford to hire you to put up a security system here. I…I just can’t.”
She could barely afford to get the window fixed. By her calculations, if she got four more custom cake orders, she could just about come up with a security deposit and moving expenses on a dingy studio apartment, assuming daily sales stayed steady and she didn’t have any surprise expenses. But the window would cost hundreds to fix. A security system on top of that?
She’d have to mooch off Marlon’s hospitality for a lot longer than she’d expected.
Her heart beat unsteadily.
Marlon’s hand swept up to her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry about it, Camilla.”
“Oh, ‘don’t worry about it,’” she snarked. “Sure. Easy. No problem. My business is going to incur thousands of dollars of expenses that I can’t afford, but sure, I just won’t worry about it.”
Marlon’s jaw clenched. “I’ll give you a discount.”
“Unless that discount is a hundred percent, the answer is no.”
She was being rude. Camilla knew it, but she couldn’t stop. Marlon was trying to do a nice thing, and he barely knew her. She should be jumping at the chance. Still—she couldn’t afford it. Was it really ridiculous to have a budget? She’d just cleared her debt. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours!
Camilla prided herself on her independence. The loan had been a necessary evil, and now it was over . She couldn’t accept another man’s help without knowing what kind of strings would be attached. That would be like taking two giant steps back on her path to true stability.
The police officers watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, then pulled Camilla aside and asked a few more questions. They gave her a case number and told her how she could get a copy of the police report for her insurance claim.
She nodded, trying her best to keep her grip on her sanity. The tinkling of broken glass drew her attention to the window, where Ben was sweeping up the shards. Marlon had procured gloves from his car, and he was knocking out the pieces that were still stuck in the frame.
“It’s probably just some kids trying to cause trouble,” the male police officer told her with a bracing pat on the shoulder. “We’ll ask around to nearby businesses and let you know what we find.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded to her, then walked away. The two officers stopped to shake Marlon’s hand and exchange a few quiet words, then got in their cruiser and drove off. She watched Ben and Marlon work for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen.
Daniel was pulling out beautifully browned loaves from the industrial ovens. He had the last batch proofing in round bannetons—proofing baskets—shaped with his expert hand. Hiring Daniel had felt like a risk, but he’d allowed Camilla to have a somewhat normal sleep schedule, and he was much better at bread baking than she was. More sleep and regular business hours had allowed her to expand the cake-decorating side of the business just as the wedding season hit its peak.
She’d felt like a real businesswoman when she’d hired Daniel. She was spending money to make money, making hard decisions, and watching them pay off. Now it all seemed so precarious. How could she pay Daniel and Ben and the other employees who worked for her?
She’d used everything to make that last loan payment. Everything . Her living expenses for the next little while would go on credit. She’d make payroll with the cash coming into the bakery this week—just. It would have been much, much better to keep a larger float of cash for just this type of unforeseen expense.
But defaulting on a loan from Frankie Smith wasn’t an option. If she hadn’t given him every last penny she owed him, he’d have taken her business.
It had been a mistake to take that loan. A horrible, naive mistake. She had no one to blame but herself and no one to share the burden with, either. She hadn’t told anyone about her debt, probably because even ten years ago when she’d been desperate to secure the lease on this space, Camilla knew taking anything from Frankie was a terrible idea. Shame made it easy to keep quiet.
Deep breaths . It was done now. She could move on. She just had to bridge this last little gap, and everything would be fine.
“You okay, Fox?” Daniel leaned his big arms on the marble countertop they used to handle dough. In his early fifties, Daniel had been baking for decades. He was bald, muscular, and friendly. He had a wife who was a paramedic and two kids he adored. His presence calmed Camilla’s frayed nerves.
She stood across from him and let out a deep breath. “I really didn’t need a broken front window today. The decal alone cost three hundred dollars.”
“You got people knocking that door down from open ’til close,” Daniel told her as he patted her hand. “Customers keep coming back because they love your food. A broken window won’t change that.”
A nod, and Camilla straightened her spine. She’d recover from this. She didn’t owe anyone any money now—apart from the credit cards that were slowly racking up—but she’d clear those when the ground was steady again underfoot. She could weather this storm. “You’re right.”
“Sure am.” Daniel winked, then moved to the proofing baskets to test the dough with a soft poke. Humming to himself, Daniel flipped the baskets over, gave the loaves quick, expert slashes with a bread lame—the blade used to score them—and put them in the oven.
Camilla watched his easy, practiced movements and felt a bit of tension ease. The kitchen smelled like fresh-baked bread, sugar, and warm spices. It was hot back here, cozy and familiar. This was her space. Her baby. She’d fought for it, and now it was hers.
Come what may, Camilla knew she could rely on herself. If nothing else, she knew that.
“I’m going to head to the hardware store for some plywood,” Marlon said, poking his head through the kitchen doorway. “We’ll block out the window opening until we can get new glass in there.”
We. He said it so easily, like it was completely natural that he’d jump to Camilla’s rescue and be part of the clean-up.
She should’ve refused. It was always better to stand alone, not to rely on anyone else. But Camilla was tired . She’d been on her own for so long, and it was nice to have someone take on some of the responsibility. Would it be so bad to accept an outstretched hand now and again? It didn’t mean she was signing up to another loan shark’s outrageous terms. If Marlon wanted to help, maybe she should get out of her own way and accept.
She nodded. “Thanks, Marlon.”
He ducked back out, disappearing behind the swinging door.
“Who was that ?” Emily said behind her, wide-eyed. The teenager had been working the register at Camilla’s bakery for six months, and customers loved her. She had just started to take on some simple baking tasks, like dropping cookies, and soon she’d begin training on brownies and quick breads. She was a great employee, but she was also a teenage girl who had just seen a big, burly, sexy man. Her mouth hung open so wide, Camilla was worried she’d drool all over the kitchen floor.
“That,” Camilla replied, “is my new roommate.”
“He’s hot .” Emily smacked Camilla’s arm, her face a mask of disbelief. “Like, really super hot, Camilla! Like whoa ! Did you see him?”
Camilla laughed, nodding. “Yeah. I have to see him every day. I live with him.”
“Lucky.” Emily walked to the office, dropped her bag, then stepped to the front. She let out a little scream. “What happened to the window?”
Despite herself, Camilla felt a smile curl her lips. She exchanged a look with Daniel, who just shook his head with quiet fondness. His daughter was Emily’s age. Camilla followed the girl to the front. As soon as Emily heard about the vandalism, her phone was in her hand and she was letting her entire social circle know about the drama.
Before Camilla knew what was happening, the shop was overrun with teenagers. The good news was those teenagers were hungry. She sold out of muffins and donuts within an hour of opening, and when Marlon reappeared with a drill and a couple of sheets of plywood, the play-by-play was all over social media.
While she was closing the drawer on the register after serving a customer, Camilla heard Emily inhale. She followed the teen’s gaze to a young man at the entrance, who was watching the plywood installation with vaguely disinterested curiosity.
“That’s Harvey,” Emily whispered, shaking her hands in a nervous flutter.
“Who’s Harvey?”
“He’s my friend Anna’s new boyfriend.”
Camilla frowned at the brown-haired man. He had light eyes, but she couldn’t tell the color from across the room. He wore tight jeans and a loose, long tee with a bomber jacket. “He looks a bit old to be dating a teenager.”
“He’s twenty-three,” Emily said with a shrug. “But Anna’s like, really mature. And she’s going to be seventeen next month.”
Oh, hell no.
The mama bear that rose inside Camilla roared so loudly it nearly came out through her human mouth. Her eyes narrowed as the man approached. His eyes were brown, she noted. He had a nose ring. He probably thought he was hot shit for dating a sixteen-year-old. The creep. She wanted to leap over the counter and tell him to get the hell out of her bakery—and her town.
His lazy-lidded eyes slid over Emily. “Hey, Em. What happened?”
“Someone broke the window,” she said, flushing. “I texted Anna about it.”
Camilla hip-checked the teen out of the way and bared her teeth at Harvey. “We’re all sold out,” she said. “Sorry.”
He blinked at her, then at the overflowing display cases that had just been refilled with fresh goods. He let out a little huff of disbelief. “What?”
“What are you talking about?” Emily hissed.
“Sorry,” Camilla repeated, not sounding sorry at all, then swept an arm toward the door. “Have a good day.”
At the same time, Marlon happened to be stalking toward the counter. His brow was furrowed as he watched the interaction, dark gaze landing on Harvey.
The younger man reared back at Marlon’s steady gaze, then snorted. “Whatever, lady.”
When he was gone, Emily let out a noise of protest. “What the heck, Camilla!”
She turned and pointed a finger at the girl. “You stay away from him.”
Her voice must have been harsher than she realized because Emily threw her hands up in a dramatic don’t-shoot-me motion. “Okay. Fine. Jeez.”
“Tell Anna the same.”
“I can’t tell her what to do!”
Camilla pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Her nerves were fraying.
She’d met a few Harveys in her youth. When she refused to dance to her parents’ tune, she’d had to make her way in the world on her own. Her first boyfriend had been older, had told her how mature she was, had made her feel special. Then he’d convinced her to move in and manipulated her into handing over most of the money she made. She’d even given him some of the student loans she’d gotten for culinary school. She’d been trapped in that relationship for longer than she cared to admit, and that series of bad decisions had led her right to Frankie Smith's door.
It had been nearly fifteen years since she’d met her ex, and she was only just crawling out from the impact he had on her life. Emily and her friend Anna wouldn’t go through that if she could do anything about it. She made a mental note to speak to Emily when things were quieter in the store.
Men like Harvey—like her ex—were the exact reason Camilla was so careful about who she let help her. She had a romantic heart, but she’d been burned. What good was it to open yourself up to a man when he could destroy your life for years?
In a way, she was a hypocrite. Hadn’t she pushed Amelia to give Leo a chance? Didn’t she love romcoms and love stories?
But it was different for her. She only had herself at the end of the day; she had to be careful.
From the corner of her eye, Camilla saw Marlon’s hip lean against the counter. “You staying here for the day?”
She lifted her gaze to his and gave him a tight smile. “Have to,” Camilla said while Emily busied herself stocking the display case with spiced apple muffins for the third time that morning. “Can’t leave these guys here on their own.”
“Call me when you’re done. I’ll come pick you up.”
Not having the time or energy to protest, she just waved Marlon off and smiled at the next customer. The morning rush lasted well into the afternoon, with all the looky-loos wanting to hear the latest Stirling gossip and bemoan the state of the world when vandals thought they could break any window they pleased.
“Stirling has gone to hell in a hand basket,” Mr. Petrovski grumbled as he waited for his cappuccino. “A small business like yours, getting smashed to bits. It’s terrible. Terrible! Like that old hag that used to live next to me. She’s another one! Don’t get me started on her! Did you hear about what she was doing? Stealing every chance she got, then tucking tail and running when her partner gets nabbed. Well! I always knew something was up with her. Always knew she was up to no good.”
Six months ago, Mr. Petrovski’s neighbor—who happened to be Amelia’s neighbor too—had been involved in an elaborate operation to sell stolen goods. She’d disappeared while her partner took the fall, and the whole town had been awash with gossip for months afterward. When the original thief had been caught, Amelia nearly had to go into hiding to avoid the hordes of locals wanting to juice her like a lemon for all the sordid details. They’d heard about her neighbor Mrs. Gordon’s involvement only the day before, on the morning of Amelia’s wedding. Camilla thought it was a good thing Amelia was leaving for her honeymoon today. The gossip would be out of control.
Since the ordeal had started, any little drama had been blown out of proportion. Like, for example, a vandalized bakery window.
“You’ve got a good nose for these things, Mr. Petrovski,” Camilla said in a placating voice before turning to the next customer. “What can I get for you?”
By closing time, Camilla’s feet ached, but her heart was full. She’d sent everyone home and was doing the final cash-out at the register, humming to herself. She’d spent all day feeding people. She’d heard countless sympathetic comments. Her community had rallied around her to give her one of the best days of business her bakery had ever experienced.
Everything would be okay, and soon she’d be in that beautiful house, laying her head on a pillow, feeling utterly content. A couple more days like this, and Camilla would be able to fix the window, save a security deposit for a new place, and finally start over.
Then the bell above the door jingled.
“We’re closed!” Camilla called out a moment before she looked up—and stilled.
Frankie Smith strolled through the door. He stood silhouetted in the doorway with two of his goons standing a step behind him. Glancing at the plywood, Frankie sniffed then swung his gaze to Camilla.
She stood frozen, gripping the counter, not understanding what she was seeing. What was he doing there? Why did he come? She’d paid him! Their business was done!
The trio’s footsteps echoed on the tile floor as they approached. Frankie was a shortish, pudgy man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. His face always looked red, and his nose had a purple tip and the broken capillaries that betrayed decades of heavy drinking. He wore a blue button-down shirt and a leather jacket, along with brown pleated pants and black shoes. His goons were over six feet tall, possessing protruding foreheads and an inability to speak in polysyllabic words.
Ice water could have dumped over Camilla’s head, and it would have chilled her less than the sight of those men in her space. She straightened and donned the mask she always used with him. Professional, unflappable, unafraid. “Mr. Smith,” she said with a nod. “What can I do for you?”
He gave her an oily smile. “I’m here to collect, darling. You’re late.”
Camilla’s brows slammed together. “W-what? No! I made the transfer yesterday. I sent you a text with the receipt as proof.”
Frankie shrugged, spreading his palms. “Ain’t got no money in my account, girl. No money means—you—are— late .”
“T-that’s just because it was a Saturday,” she stammered. “But you got the receipt... It’ll be in your account on Monday, Frankie. I sent the money on time.”
A snort and a shake of the head was the only response he gave. He snapped his fingers at one of the goons behind him, who reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Frankie took the stack, flipped to the second-to-last page, and slapped the documents on the counter for Camilla to see.
“Read section fourteen point seven of our loan agreement for me, Miss Fox.”
Heart hammering, Camilla frowned at the papers. The letters swam all over the page. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them up again, taking a deep breath. “‘In the case of default on the loan, an excess discharge fee will be incurred by the loanee in the amount of ten thousand dollars !’” She whipped her head up to meet Frankie’s gaze. “What? No!”
“It’s right there in black and white, and your pretty little initials are at the bottom of every page,” Frankie answered, beady eyes flat. “So pay up, Ms. Fox, and let us be on our way. Otherwise…” He let the word hang, glancing around the bakery.
He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Camilla knew what would happen otherwise. That had been a guillotine blade hanging above her neck for the past decade.
Because a loan shark didn’t only charge fees and interest. No, Frankie Smith had put clauses in their loan agreement that stated that if Camilla failed to make the repayments, the ownership of the business would revert directly to Frankie Smith. Worse, she’d have to work for him for five whole years. He could run her bakery to the ground, and Camilla would have to help him do it.
But she didn’t have ten thousand dollars. She’d spent everything she had to make the final loan payment yesterday. Literally everything . She’d had to wait until Saturday morning to make the transfer, because that’s when the deposit from Friday’s earnings at the bakery finally showed up in her account.
Her credit was shot; she wouldn’t even be able to borrow ten thousand dollars to pay him off.
“Frankie…” Her tough-woman persona was gone. Camilla was close to tears. “This can’t be legal.”
“You gonna take me to court?” Frankie arched a brow. He didn’t look scared, because he already knew the answer: No, she wasn’t going to take him to court. She couldn’t even afford a dumpy studio apartment in Stirling’s worst neighborhood. Legal fees were beyond her.
Frankie sighed, planting meaty fists on the counter. “Listen, honey, I’m a nice guy, so I’m going to be lenient.” He leaned closer, and his breath smelled of onions. His eyes drilled into hers. “I’m going to give you”—he tilted his head, like he was mulling it over—“two weeks to come up with the money. I won’t even charge you interest. You just gotta get ten thousand dollars to my account by…” He glanced at Goon Number One on his left, the one who’d been carrying the papers.
The goon checked his phone. “The nineteenth of November.”
“The nineteenth of November,” Frankie repeated, smiling. “Easy.”
Calculations flew through Camilla’s head. The bakery’s profits outside of the wedding season after expenses, staff wages, and taxes were just over a thousand dollars a week, and that didn’t include paying herself a wage. She couldn’t do two weeks. No way.
“Eight,” she said. “I need eight weeks.”
She’d hustle harder than she’d ever hustled in her life. No courthouse wedding would be without a cake from The Sweetest Thing. She’d do whatever she could.
“What the hell,” Frankie said with a cheery smile. “I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you four. But Miss Fox, if you’re late…” He twirled his finger in the air. “All this is mine.”
The three men walked out of the bakery, leaving an oppressive weight in the air behind them. Hands shaking, Camilla locked the door as soon as they were through, then had a miniature panic attack, then turned to look at the business she’d poured her heart and soul into for the past decade.
She had four weeks to fix this. Four weeks to live like a pauper so she didn’t lose it all. Four weeks to pay off the monster from her nightmares once and for all.
She hoped Marlon didn’t mind her sticking around a little bit longer than planned, because Camilla had nowhere else to go. She’d be living like a nun for the foreseeable future; otherwise, she’d lose everything.
This was not good.